The Wedding That Wasn't: Inside Gen Z's Playful Reimagining Of Tradition

News18

2 days ago

If these events become occasions for real connection, cultural appreciation, or even joyful experimentation, they have value
Last week in Dubai, a friend hosted me for lunch at The Arts Club. As we discussed the evolving landscape of society and culture, she shared a video-cum-advertisement that left quite an impression. It was a video with eye-popping colours, choreography, and an unmistakable shaadi dazzle. Young people in exquisite ethnic ensembles twirling to Bollywood beats, grinning through varmala ceremonies, throwing petals with perfect cinematic timing. It looked like a wedding. It felt like a wedding. Except, there was no bride or groom. No priest. No sacred fire. Just a curated performance of what a wedding is supposed to feel like.
Welcome to the world of fake weddings.
A rapidly growing trend among Gen Z across India's metros—and now increasingly across global campuses and expat communities—these shaadi-style parties have all the makings of a big fat Indian wedding minus the actual marriage. There's a mehendi counter. There's a sangeet. There may even be a baraat, a mock phera, and a buffet that rivals real wedding spreads. But what binds it together isn't commitment—it's content.
At first, I wasn't sure what to make of it. As someone who has spent a lifetime celebrating and chronicling Indian culture—from classical forms to crafts, from cuisine to couture—I carry a deep reverence for the Indian wedding. In our country, a wedding is not just a private promise; it is a public sacrament. A convergence of tradition and modernity, of generations and values, of ritual and joy. So when I saw these ceremonies unmoored from meaning, I felt a curious discomfort.
But the more I read, watched, and listened, a layered story began to emerge. One that is less about parody and more about performance. Less about derision and perhaps more about desire.
Less rebellion, more participation
Let's begin with the facts. These events are not one-offs. They are a flourishing genre. Event companies in Delhi now regularly host fake weddings, with entry passes ranging from Rs 500 to Rs 3,000. Guests dress in ethnic finery, sip cocktails, play shaadi games, and create content for social media. Some of these are on college campuses; others are in rooftop bars or curated lounges. The catch? No real couple, no commitment, and absolutely no family drama.
It's not just India. At Cornell University in the US, a two-day fake wedding drew scores of students. In Dubai, South Asian millennials recently attended a full-blown 'farzi sangeet", complete with gajras and DJ sets. Luxury hotel chains have taken note too—when the Shangri-La Group launched Bandhan, its wedding service vertical, the press event itself was a mock wedding, starring models in Tarun Tahiliani couture and live Sufi musicians.
So, why now? Why fake weddings, and why this generation?
Part of it is simple enough: the Indian wedding, with all its rituals and excesses, is irresistible. The clothes, the food, the music, the emotion—it's a high-voltage celebration of life. For many Gen Zers—especially young professionals far from home, NRIs, or foreigners who've grown up hearing about Indian weddings but never been invited—the idea of a fake wedding is less rebellion, more participation. It's a way to access the magic, without the pressure.
But there's something deeper, too.
Not a mockery—but a mirror
Today's young adults are navigating a landscape of shifting values. They have grown up watching the sanctity of marriage challenged by increasing divorce rates, gender conflicts, and intergenerational disillusionment. For many, the idea of getting married feels loaded, even fraught. But the performance of a wedding? That still retains allure. It's theatre. It's fantasy. It's the one Indian party where everyone knows the choreography.
Perhaps the fake wedding, then, is not a mockery—but a mirror. A mirror reflecting the tensions of a generation that yearns for connection but fears permanence. That craves celebration, but shrinks from commitment. That seeks the symbols of tradition, while rewriting its substance.
There is, of course, an entire ecosystem that makes this possible. Event companies promise curated experiences with flowers, food, mehendi artists, and classic shaadi games. Some venues even offer free cocktails if you show up in ethnic wear. And for Instagram-native attendees, it's a dream—what better occasion to wear that lehenga you've kept for your cousin's wedding, or those kundan earrings you've only worn once?
I spoke recently to someone who attended a 'shaadi rave" in Noida. 'It was the most fun I've had in ages," she said. 'There were dhol players, a fake bride and groom, a haldi station with marigolds, and even a choreographed sangeet. No relatives asking about your job or love life, no melodrama. Just fun." Her joy was sincere. And even contagious.
What makes reinvention meaningful is intention
But I cannot help but wonder what's lost when we detach ritual from meaning. There was a time when a wedding was not just a private milestone but a communal memory. A grandmother's lullaby during the mehendi. A father's quiet tears at the vidaai. A cousin teaching you the steps to a garba. A wedding was a story handed down, not a script improvised for a reel.
What happens when we commodify that emotion? When commitment becomes cosplay?
There is also the question of sustainability. The fake wedding economy may generate business for bartenders and DJs, but will it sustain traditional artisans, mehfil singers, or the handloom weavers of Chanderi and Banarasi? Will a party that lives and dies on Instagram support the quiet dignity of those who bring poetry to the phera?
That said, I don't wish to play the moralist. Culture is not static. It flows. It morphs. It reinvents. And Indian culture—vast, inclusive, irrepressibly alive—has always accommodated reinvention. From hybrid cuisines to destination weddings, from eco-friendly rituals to gender-neutral pheras, we have never been afraid to play with form.
But what makes reinvention meaningful is intention. When we perform a ritual, we owe it at least some sincerity. Otherwise, what anchors our joy? What deepens our celebration?
Am I against fake weddings? I am against shallow mimicry. If these events become occasions for real connection, cultural appreciation, or even joyful experimentation, they have value. But if they reduce centuries of emotion into hashtags and headpieces, then perhaps we must pause and ask: what are we celebrating? And why? Or is this spectacle simply a reflection of our collective state of mind?
A columnist and author, Sundeep Bhutoria is passionate about the environment, education, and wildlife conservation. Views expressed in the above piece are personal and solely those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect News18's views.
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culture marriage wedding
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Location :
New Delhi, India, India
First Published:
August 01, 2025, 05:03 IST
News opinion Opinion | The Wedding That Wasn't: Inside Gen Z's Playful Reimagining Of Tradition
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